


Temporary Nothing

by Jaskiers_BrokenLute



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Depressed Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, slighty OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaskiers_BrokenLute/pseuds/Jaskiers_BrokenLute
Summary: Sometimes, when Jaskier feels dead to the world he just needs Geralt to bring him back.(Or: Jaskier is going through a low in depression and  good boyfriend Geralt helps him)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 155





	Temporary Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This may not be an accurate description of depression or panic attacks for everyone, I am strictly writing based on my own experiences.   
> I am not trying to romantisize depression at all, I tried to show the ugly sides of it by venting into this fic and wishing I had a Geralt in my life (dont we all)

Jaskier could feel the drop coming. 

He couldn't tell if it was better to anticipate it or to just fall off the ledge with no warning.   
On the one hand, knowing it's coming gives you a certain amount of control over the situation that you don't have on the days it sneaks up and attacks you from your blind spot.

At the same time, the anticipation only makes it worse, the waiting and knowing you're going to lose all inspiration and reason to live only makes you want to reach the ledge faster. 

It started with small things, not being able to compose for more than an hour at a time before getting to fidgety to properly play his guitar, dissociating too often to put lyrics together in any meaningful order. He thought nothing of it, a spell of writers block isn't abnormal and it would end in a week or two before something caught his attention and his passion for creating was back in full swing. 

Then he forgot to eat lunch, forgot to shower, forgot to brush his teeth before he fell asleep, and didn't care to set an alarm to wake up at a reasonable time. He was too tired, waking up was a chore, the worst part of any day, and he could justify it to himself, which was the worst part.   
He hadn't slept in in weeks, woke up at the same time as Geralt so they could call in the morning before Geralt had to start working. 

He left a week ago to a some sort of conference or convention that Jaskier had forgotten the reason for sometime after he left. All he knew was Geralt is gone and the days drag on in a blur, melting into each other while he paces through their apartment and tries to work the restlessness out without having to focus on any singular task, his racing mind wouldn't let him.   
Everything is screaming that he should be doing something, but each time he thinks of an activity or chore he's put off it always sounds pointless. If I clean this it'll only dirty again in a day, if I try to compose I'll only feel worse because I know I can't, if I call Geralt he'll be too busy. Etc, etc. 

So he stayed in bed. His hair was getting greasier, his teeth had a film of them that felt almost sticky when he ran his tongue over it. He hated it, his chest constricting every time he thought of all the things he'd failed to do that day, but he never got up for anything other than to relieve himself and avoid the mirror. He couldn't face himself head on. 

He was falling back into old habits, fast and hard. 

Geralt's call failed to wake him this morning, he woke up at two in the afternoon, feeling like a layer of dust had settled over him. His back was stiff and aching when he tried to relieve the tension with a lazy stretch. He could smell sweat on the blankets and his old shirt that he couldn't care enough to change, it would only get dirty and smell again int he morning, so why bother changing this one? 

He could feel the line between knowing he's falling and not noticing he's missing himself begin to blur. This feels like a dead end, there's nothing he should be doing, nothing worth the effort of facing his failure, nothing worth leaving his room for anymore. 

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, the light from his screen filling the room with a red glow. His lockscreen a photo he took of Geralt driving, they were passing a vintage themed diner with a neon sign, the night caught the red light beautifully, filling the entire car with a fluorescent glow that made Geralt look otherworldly. He was side eyeing the camera, pretending to be annoyed that Jaskier was taking his photo, but the camera doesn't lie, catching the smirk he'd tried to hide.   
It showed who Geralt was inside and out, it's Jaskier favourite photo of him. 

The memory didn't make him smile when he grabbed his phone off the bedside table. 

He saw the missed call from Geralt and cursed himself, Geralt would be busy for the rest of the day and be asleep as soon as he was back in his hotel room. Jaskier would have to wait until tomorrow to hear his voice again. The phone calls were the only thing keeping Jaskier alive, pulling out his bright voice and false cheeriness as not to worry Geralt, but now that he'd missed it he has no reason to pretend he's fine, no thread to desperately grasp at today. 

Geralt: Are you okay? - 6:34 am 

The first text came minutes after the phone call. He felt his heart beat just a little faster, anyone else would be angry with him, rightfully should be that he'd missed their only call, and yet Geralt worried more about him. 

Geralt: Sleep well Jask, I'll call you tonight. XO

He never used X's O's or emojiis for that matter in text, never unless he thinks Jaskier needs some sort of visual reinforced proof that Geralt's message is sent in a loving tone. 

The thought that Geralt cared enough for him to write in a way that made sure Jaskier's mind wouldn't twist the words into anger or disappointed made him feel, cared for, for the first time in days. 

It broke something inside of him. The tears started slowly, his phone tucked close to his chest as they dissolved into sobs. He doesn't deserve someone like Geralt. Someone who hates his photo taken but lets Jaskier act like his own personal paparazzi because it makes him happy, someone who doesn't care if he misses a scheduled call, someone who cares enough, understands him enough to know that without the extra incentive Jaskier would have assumed the worst.   
Someone so caring, hard at work to earn them money while he lays in bed wasting away for days on end. Geralt deserves so much better. 

The sobs begin to get caught in his throat, cutting off his breath and choking him with every other inhale until his lungs feel like they have weights on top of them, until each sob is an ugly noise, sounding like when you try to scream in a dream but it just won't come out. 

His hand tightens on the phone until his fingers cramp and he nearly hurls it at the wall just to release some of the energy running through him like energy. 

He needs Geralt more than he can put into words, he needs him now before he knocks himself out in panic. 

But Geralt's working, he probably doesn't even have his phone with him, he doesn't have time for you Jaskier. 

The voice inside of him, that he knows will always just be the side of him that will never truly leave this bed, speaks up. He almost gives in, lets his body take over to watch the phone sail through the air and into the wall, glass raining over the hard wood and memories lost. 

But that photo of Geralt, it's the only copy of the photo in this world. 

"I don't care the time, place, or specifics of the situation, if you need me, Jaskier, I will be there." 

The photo seems to speak to him, the haze of red remembering when Geralt had come home to find him nearly taken back into the shell of a man he used to be, early in their relationship before Geralt fully understood all the pill bottles in the cabinet and the therapy meetings that never ended. Pills he hasn't taken since Geralt left and appointments he's bailed on all the same. 

Before he can argue with himself anymore he's already hit call, worse case scenario Geralt doesn't answer, or has to hang up to get back to work.

He answers on the second ring. 

"Jaskier? Are you okay?" 

"No," He gets the word past the block in his throat before his end of the phone is flooded with struggling breath and half-sob, half shouts. 

"Okay, what do you need, talk to me Jask this will be over soon." He keeps his voice calm but Jaskier knows he ran off from whatever he was doing just to tend to his needyness. 

"Talk, please." He needs not to think, to hear Geralt's voice talk about anything other than right now.

"The last time I visited Vesemir at the ranch, last July do you remember?" He doesn't miss a beat before coming up with any random story to tell, throwing in questions now and again to make sure Jaskier is with him before continuing, acting as if Jaskier isn't in the middle of a panic attack, exactly what Jaskier needs, Geralt is always exactly what Jaskier needs. 

He tells him about how Eskel and Lambert had shown up to surprise him, how Vesemir had made them all help in the kitchen and what a disaster it had turned into. He talks about how Roach is doing, tells him he remembered to give her a treat from him every day he was there, and how Eskel had mocked him for it.

It was a good story, one that reminded Jaskier of life outside of this. Of the family he now had. 

He could breath easier half way through the story but selfishly didn't interrupt to tell Geralt he was better now. Truthfully, he knows he's not better, but he can speak, can breath and no longer needs to shout and throw things at the wall just to watch them smash. 

"They told me to bring you along next time, it's been too long. Even Lambert admitted to wanting to see you. I told him I wouldn't tell you that though." 

"I'd like that," He speaks, hating how his voice echoes back at him from Geralt's side of the phone, scratchy and breaking on every other word. 

"Me too. Do you need me to come home?" He asks as non-chalant as he can, knowing the minutes after an attack are sensitive, any misstep sending Jaskier back into his spiral. 

He doesn't slip over the edge he's still backing away from, but he doesn't answer right away.   
Really, he knows he needs Geralt to come home. He knows it's sad, that he can't even function on his own for more than a week, but he needs Geralt. 

"Yes," He admits softly, wishing it would be as easy as that. Easy as 'yes' and Geralt would be there with him, pulling him into his arms and kissing his forehead despite the achne that's broken out from his unwashed hair sitting on his head for days. 

"Okay, I'll leave as soon as I can, love." Jaskier almost loses himself just at the word. How could Geralt possibly love him like this. 

"Only, only if you can Geralt." 

"I can." He says with a finality that even Jaskier couldn't argue with on a good day. 

"Okay," 

The phone lies silent for a moment, both knowing the conversation is over, but neither knowing if Jaskier is ready to be truly alone again. 

"Tomorrow. I'll sleep here tonight and first thing tomorrow I'm driving home."

"Okay," Jaskier repeats, a slight weight lifted off his shoulder, another cement brick added to his stomach, hating the thought of Geralt seeing him like this, again. 

"Okay, I have to go Jask, call again if you need me." 

I need you

"I'll be okay." He lies. Geralt knows he lies. 

"I love you." 

"I love you too." Jaskier wishes he could sound like he means it, it sounds so emotionless to his ears, like a lie. He hangs all his hope on Geralt knowing he would never lie about such a thing. 

He's left alone again. He leaves the bed twice that day, both for the toilet and then back into bed, sleeping, and when he can't sleep, laying there in silence, eyes closed, mind racing, throbbing with pain that he can't trace back to anything. 

He chases the answer to this disease that drags him down like walking into the ocean with pockets filled with a stones, until he loses hope once again and falls dead to the world. The only peace he's known since Geralt hung up hours ago. 

\------------

He wakes to a hand on his shoulder, Geralt's kneeling beside the bed. 

"Hi," he smiles when Jaskier's eyes force themselves open, exhausted from over-sleeping. 

Resisting the urge to bury his head in this pillows and hide from his lover, he manages a small twitch of his lip in response. 

"When was the last time you ate?" He asks, running his hand through Jaskier's hair that no doubt feels waxy and awful on his fingers. 

Jaskier shrugs, if he knew for certain what day it was he may be able to answer. Geralt doesn't look angry with him, just shifts his hands from dirty hair to the back of Jaskier's neck, warmth radiating from that point outward, nearly lulling Jaksier back into unconsciousness. 

"What about drank?" He prompts, the same answer following. He knows it was sooner than the last time he ate, but he can't tell for certain when it was, he probably couldn't properly identify the last time he woke up before now. 

"Okay, stay here for a minute alright? I'll be right back." He places a kiss on Jaskier's forehead, just like he knew he'd do, and leaves the room. 

Jaskier can hear his footsteps go down the hall, a silence, and the rushing sound of water filling their bath tub plays Geralt's footsteps back into the room. 

"Can you get up for me? Just down the hall and you're done." 

It seems impossible, feels like standing beside a sky scraper and being told to climb to the top without any gear or instructions on how. 

Geralt's smile feels like someone pointing out the elevator he'd ignored in favour of gawking at the impossibility of it all. 

Without argument he forces himself out of bed and takes Geralt's outstretched hand, walking with him to their bathroom. He feels light on his feet, like he's walking through water, a sign that the answer to the last time he ate was longer ago than he thought.

"Sit down." Geralt leads him gently into a seated position on the toilet lid, warm hands stripping him of his sweat soaked t-shirt and boxer-briefs, depositing them into the laundry bin, and coming back to Jaskier, cupping his face in those warm hands to plant another kiss on the very tip of his nose. 

"Can you get in while I get us some food, love?" He asks gently, his hands feel like the only thing holding Jaskier up. 

With tear filled eyes he nods, not ready to speak just yet, knowing nothing but sounds of agony would escape if he opened his lips. His throat burns with the effort of keeping his composure, his chin wrinkling as he bites back the emotions drowning him after days of feeling nothing but pressure. 

"Right back," Geralt leaves Jaskier to slip into the hot water, eyes slipping shut at the pure comfort the steaming bath surrounding him brings. He's not nearly close to feeling clean, but he feels content, knowing Geralt is coming back for him. 

And come back he does, holding a shopping back in his hand as well as a bottle of water, cold from the fridge. 

"I stopped off before home to get us some quick food, I figure we could both use an easy meal." 

Jaskier doesn't miss the way he avoids coddling him, saying 'we' instead of the obvious 'you'. It's such a small thing, but he feels a little less like an alien, a little less alone in this. 

"I picked up on of those pre-made salads, the ones you like to take to gigs with you. I couldn't remember which kind you usually grabbed so I bought a couple, and I also have a few other things if that's not what you're hungry for." He digs through the bag, pulling out the plastic containers of single serve salads, a few packets of flavoured crackers, and a bottle of some children's tropical flavoured juice.   
It was clearly a quick shop, grabbing anything that could just be opened and eaten without any preparation. It was so sourly sweet that Jaskier almost wanted to turn it down, say he could make himself a meal when he was hungry. But he knew he couldn't. 

"Have you taken your meds?" He asks as he peels the plastic top off the salad Jaskier had chosen and began pouring in the separate packets of toppings that came inside.

"No." He answered verbally, staring at his hand as he pushed it through the water, watching the ripples spread and then settle, over, and over, and over, and over.

"Jaskier, you can't skip too many days like this, you know it messes with the effects of the medication, you'll feel off for a few days now." 

It was teh only thing that Geralt spoke in a way that sounded slightly disappointed, but Jaskier knew taking his medication was different to skipping a meal. He nodded along with Geralt's short lecture. 

"You can start again in the morning, for now just eat and drink some water. We'll get you better." 

Jaskier nods once more, the movement sending tears cascading down both of his cheeks, hic vision clearing up before his eyes re-fill, burning with the attempts to hold back the tears. 

"I love you Geralt. I'm sorry I'm like this," He says softly, wiping his face off with a wet hand that hides his tears, blending in with the water. 

"I love you Jaskier, all of you. I'm only sorry that you feel the need to apologize for this." Geralt slips to the floor beside the tub, taking Jaskier's hand in his own, his thump rubbing soothingly over his knuckles, the sleeve of his shirt soaked through with water. 

"I wish I could love you more," 

"I think you'll find that impossible, if you love me as much as I love you." He whispers, kissing Jaskier's knuckles, his wrist, and the back of his hand. 

Jaskier stares at Geralt was the tears fall, his face slowly losing composure, melting into ugly sobs that shake the water around him and reverberate off the walls. 

Geralt strips himself only of his jeans before slipping into the tub in front of Jaskier, wasting no time before pulling the smaller man as close to him as the small space would allow.   
Jaskier sat on his lap, head laid on his shoulder as he cries, loud and ripping at his throat. 

Geralt's arms try desperately to keep the pieces together as Jaskier falls apart in his arms. 

Even now, even in shit with his boss for the sudden abandonment of his post, even in his wet clothes as he pulls Jaskier back into life, there is no love he'd rather have, no person he's rather put back together than Jaskier. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my 5 am vent fic, if you like it please let me know.
> 
> (Also I couldnt decide on a job for Geralt for lets pretend its not to oddly vauge.)
> 
> Title from Temporary Nothing by mxmtoon.


End file.
